Night of the Fifth Moon Read Free

‘Watch!’ Eagerly, he raised one leg off the ground.
    â€˜Huh, anyone can do that,’ retorted Bran, lifting his leg too.
    As they both stood there wobbling, Bran wiry and freckled, with ears sticking out from the sides of his head like the handles of an ale cup, and Lorccán pink-cheeked and proud, Riona burst into a fit of giggles.
    â€˜You two look like dogs, not cranes!’ she sputtered, and they all started to laugh.
    â€˜Hush!’ said Nessa. ‘Faelán’s coming!’
    The druid emerged from the trees dressed like a king. His full-length robe was not of flax or wool, but soft, shimmering silk. It was dyed in woad blue, the same deep hue as a twilight sky. That was a colour that only a king or a druid was permitted to wear. The morning sun glinted off golden ornaments about his neck and wrists, and the jewelled harp in his arms. But his feet were bare, and when he walked he seemed not to disturb the grass or leaves beneath him. Ket watched longingly. It was almost as though the druid did not touch the ground.
    â€˜Will I ever learn to walk like that?’ wondered Ket.
    Nessa danced impatiently, pigtails twitching and jingling, as the druid crossed the clearing. He passed the campfire, the altar stone with the dry brown stains of blood, and the heaps of heather scattered with rawhide rugs that served as beds.
    At last he reached the Sacred Yew where the fosterlings waited. He rested his harp against the tree and lowered himself beside the ogham rod. Bangles clinked along his arms as he steepled long, knobbly fingers.
    â€˜Today,’ he announced, ‘you will memorise a tale.’
    â€˜ Storytelling? ’ squawked Bran. ‘But . . .’
    The druid’s eyes narrowed.
    â€˜I thought we were going to learn secrets,’ said Bran gruffly.
    â€˜Words,’ said Faelán sternly, ‘are power.’
    Ket thought of the words, all those years ago, that had defeated his father in battle.
    â€˜The value of stories is beyond measure,’ Faelán continued. ‘Tales hold the history of our people and our land. If you become a druid it will be your duty to pass them on to the next generation. Now, which of you has a good memory?’
    â€˜Me!’ cried Lorccán. ‘I can remember anything.’
    â€˜Hmm.’ Faelán raised one eyebrow. He slid off one of his bangles and laid it on the ground in front of him. ‘Watch,’ he said.
    He placed his knife beside the bracelet, then two small stones, an oak leaf, and a feather. ‘And . . .’ He looked around. ‘These.’ A half-melted candle, a limpet shell, and a wisp of tinder were added to the strange array. ‘That will do.’
    â€˜What are they for?’ demanded Lorccán.
    Faelán smiled. ‘Lend me your cloak.’ He held the cape of badger skins in the air. ‘Thrice times three are the objects here,’ he said. ‘You have seen them all, but now . . .’ He lowered the cloak over the top. ‘Try to name them.’
    â€˜Two stones!’ shouted Lorccán. ‘An oak leaf, a knife, a bangle, a . . . a . . .’ He screwed up his face.
    â€˜A candle,’ whispered Nessa.
    â€˜Some tinder,’ said Ket.
    â€˜That’s seven.’
    Faelán waited.
    Lorccán glared at the lumpy cloak, then Faelán whisked it into the air and they all groaned.
    â€˜We forgot the limpet shell and the feather,’ Riona exclaimed.
    â€˜Ha!’ Bran punched Lorccán on the shoulder. ‘You’re not as brilliant as you thought.’
    The druid frowned. ‘Take care how you speak,’ he reproved. ‘Words of scorn or ridicule can destroy another person. We do not use them lightly.’
    â€˜Sorry, Master Faelán.’ Bran lowered his head, but Ket could see a smile at the corner of his mouth.
    â€˜And so . . .’ Faelán smoothed down his beard. ‘Your first tale – the legend of the